When Life Hands You Lemons
by J.D. Sylvia
Summary: A spoof of those NC-17 fics written by people who don't know any better. This is barely PG-13 because hey, I don't know any better, either!


When Life Hands You…

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, and another dimension on top of that, there lived a lonely 17-year-old fanfiction writer by the name of J.D. Sylvia. She was dismayed because, like all teenagers, she thought about sex _all_ the _time_, but luckily for her there was enough trashy fanfiction out there to satiate her sexual deviancy, anxiety, and a few questions. You see, this lonely 17-year-old fanfiction writer was unfortunately doubly blessed with high morals, and residence in a town of 8,000 people, filled to the brim with awesome gay guys and undesirably perverted straight ones. Slim pickings; a fact I need not point out. So the continued existence of her virginity shall not be questioned. Aight? Aight. Nothing wrong with that. She's a smart kid, y'know.

The problem was, J.D. Sylvia the 17-year-old virgin fanfiction writer was falling prey to what is commonly known as Write-sex-scenes-and-get-hundreds-of-reviews Mania, since she liked reviews and wasn't getting many, despite her numerous successful brainchildren [1]. So, she did what any other 17-year-old virgin fanfiction writer would do, short of going out and having sex with an infected, inebriated loser for the experience. She took a leaf from the Book O Fanfiction and just wrote, even though she had abso-frickin'-lutely no idea on God's Green Earth what she was writing about. _Cower in fear, ye perverted smut writers! There is evil afoot! Behold what thou evil inaccuracies hath rendered!_

* * *

Bulma hated Vegeta.

Vegeta hated Bulma. 

Vegeta was loud, obnoxious, obstinate, indignant, arrogant, rude, cocky, egocentric, apathetic, and when wearing his spandos had an ass almost as sexy as Tobey Maguire in that marvelous movie of all movies, Spiderman. But he was still a jerk.

Bulma was loud, obnoxious, obstinate, indignant, arrogant, egocentric, altruistic, highly intelligent, and blue. Not much more to her than that.

They sure hated each other. They got into fights all the time, but even though they hated each other with a passion that rivaled the fires of Hell, they enjoyed their little arguments and thought of it as a type of verbal sparring. Don't ask me why, I only watched the TV show on Cartoon Network.

Moving on…

It has been established that there existed a mutual animosity between the blue haired heiress and the short, dark, and handsome dickweed. It goes without saying, there was a whole lot of sexual tension going on whenever they were within 20 feet of each other. I sensed it, you sensed it, Mr. And Mrs. Briefs sensed it, and most importantly, Yamcha sensed it. Can't forget about him. They, however, didn't have a clue.

Yamcha, having recovered from his fear of girls brought on by traumatic early childhood experiences involving Barbie Dolls and tweezers, was the biggest player on the planet. He had a chick for every day of the week. Some days he had two. He'd go get jiggy with one girl in the morning, another right after lunch, another around teatime, and then he'd show up at Bulma's house with lipstick on his collar reeking of three different perfumes expecting some action. He was sexually deviant. He had satyriasis. Bulma was frigid and therefore completely clueless. Vegeta knew, though. Vegeta could smell all these different women on the scar-faced human, yet he didn't dare tell Bulma for fear of her disbelief and rejection of him. Well, why the hell should he care if she got 27 sexually transmitted diseases and a few kids on the side? Because he was madly in love with her, that's why. Shhh…. Don't tell anyone!

One awful night, Yamcha had been with his side-girlfriend Brunhilde, hence he'd needed to get halfway to hammered to even vaguely enjoy his time with the buxom dog-faced erotic dancer. Afterwards he'd gone to a few bars to pick up some more chicks for later that night, and got all the way plastered. Around 8 PM he arrived at Capsule Corp. for his 7:00 date with Bulma.

"Yamcha, you jerk! You were late tonight for the last time!"

"What're you going to do Bulma, break up with me?" He asked in his suave, debonair, pathological charmer tone.

She melted. "No, I'm going to buy you a $200 watch, akay?"

"Okay," replied her supposedly loyal beau as he eyed her outfit. She'd obviously wanted to look very _special_ for him tonight, hence why she was clothed in the style of a typical teenybopping boy band fan: two napkins and a twist-tie.

Twirling, she asked, "You like?"

A raspy voice out of the darkness told the real truth. "You look like a slutty, naked, ugly twenty-dollar prostitute with very bad taste."

Restraining her weakling fornicator… I mean, her boyfriend, from attempting to punch Vegeta in the face and break his own hand in the process, she snapped back, "Oh shut up, you, I'm a thirty-year-old virgin, so there!" 

He smirked and raised his eyebrows. "_That_ I find _exceedingly _hard to believe."

"Believe what you will. Now go fly far, far away, but make sure to be close enough to help me at the snap of my fingers should I get myself into any sort of trouble."

"Gotcha," Vegeta agreed, nodding, then flew out the window in a blaze of light. Bulma watched him go with a dazed expression on her face and stars in her eyes.

"Bulma? Hello, Earth to Bulma!" Yamcha waved a hand in front of Girlfriend of the Day Number Four. Suddenly, he realized the truth. "Bulma! You skank! You've been cheating on me with Vegeta! You refused to bang me all these years, expecting me to be monogamous while you kept your so-called high morals, and this is what I get! I have needs! You refused to satisfy my needs and now you're screwing your short little roommate's brains out every night! You slutty little b--"

"Huh? Were you saying something, honey?" She interrupted, having just snapped out of her reverie, and her fantasy about a certain Saiya-jin Prince, marshmallows, and plastic handcuffs. "Oh never mind. Let's just go to dinner, I'm rich so they always have a table ready for me."

"NO! This has gone on far enough! I'm horny and I mean business!" With that, he, like, ripped off all her clothes or something, and then did some stuff, and some other stuff, and it was all very bad and terrible. Jerk.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"

Twelve miles away, Vegeta's keen Saiyan hearing picked up his beloved's cries as if she were right next to him. Of course, so did everyone else within a twenty-mile radius. Bulma's sure got a mean set of lungs. Anyhow, he immediately jumped up, pulled his hand out of his… pocket… and sped off. ZOOOOOOOM!!!!!

When he got there, Yamcha was doing more stuff to Bulma that Bulma didn't like even though he greatly enjoyed it. Vegeta surveyed the scene and frowned. He didn't know what was going on either, since with all his purging missions and whatnot he'd never gotten around to getting laid. Poor impotent bastard.

Anyway, he grabbed Yamcha by the eyelids, tossed him in the air, and blasted him into oblivion. He only meant to scorch the guy, teach him a lesson he'd never forget, but all the alcohol permeating though every single cell in Yamcha's body caused him to fireball like a barbecue charcoal doused with gasoline. Bye-bye, Yamcha.

Bulma gasped. "You killed him! But we need him to be an expendable pawn in the fight against the androids! We're going to have to wish him back with the dragonballs! But then he'll be a jerk to me again! Oh lamentable day!"

"Well, then, we'll just use the second with to castrate him."

"Okay then," Bulma agreed, then, as the situation definitely called for it, she threw herself into Vegeta's arms and started sobbing hysterically. Being the cold-hearted unfeeling machine that he is, he at first was awkward and wanted to push her away, but then he thought, _What the hell. This planet's made me all soft and emotional and filled with Warm And Fuzzy Feelings, I might as well just screw her. It. I mean, screw it. Yeah. Emotions are a weakness. Sex is bad. I'm all over her. It. All over IT. Goddammit!_

"Vegeta?"

"Yeah?" He asked, wondering what the hell she wanted now.

"I love you. Earlier today I hated your guts and didn't even have borderline lukewarm feelings for you, even though you have a really nice derriere. But now I'm madly and passionately in love with you."

"Um, okay." In Vegeta speak, that means _I love you too_, but we all know he'd never stoop so low as to actually say those three little words, I don't know what _you_ were thinking! 

"Vegeta, let's have sex."

"Um, okay."

So they went upstairs to the bedroom and started kissing. As in, tongue and everything. Their hands went to places that in all propriety they aren't supposed to be, but oh well, what do I know? He started kissing her neck because, as my friends Schwick and DZ pointed out, that's supposed to be an erotic hot spot. Doesn't work for me. So anyway, they took all their clothes off, closed the blinds to protect against voyeurs and other sexually deviant persons, and did some more stuff. Don't ask me what. I don't know. Do you know? For all any of us inexperienced persons out in the fanfiction world, sex could be totally and completely different from what is written in those NC-17 fanfics. So I'm clueless.

Anyhow.

They _gathered the dragonballs_ and, uh, _summoned the dragon_. 

Then they procreated. 

I don't know how. 

They just did. 

The End.

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End file.
